


Leave the City

by dwarf_planet



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Dark, Depression, Fever, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Spencer Reid, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression, Sad Spencer Reid, Self-Harm, Sick Character, Sick Spencer, Spencer Reid-centric, Suicide Attempt, Worried Derek Morgan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24546322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwarf_planet/pseuds/dwarf_planet
Summary: Spencer Reid is tired. He's tried so hard, suggesting anything he could think of but everything was a dead end. It's taken everything out of him and he's starting to think they'll never catch this unsub. He doesn't want to do any more.He squeezes his wrists. They're thin, so, so thin. Unhealthily so. When was the last time he ate? He doesn't remember. He stopped caring a long time ago. It doesn't matter any more, he supposes. He lets go of his flesh, picking up the razor and replacing the spot where his hand just was with a blade.He's finally letting go.OrSpencer is sick and tired and he finally just tries to end it all in a hotel room while they're on a case.(Vaguely based off Leave the City by twenty øne piløts)
Relationships: Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Comments: 36
Kudos: 471





	Leave the City

**Author's Note:**

> This one is extremely dark and likely triggering to some readers. Make sure you've read all of the tags and proceed with caution. If any of this is something that will upset you, please don't read. Stay safe <3

Doctor Spencer Reid is sitting on the floor of his hotel room bathroom with only a vague memory of how he got there and a dark cloud that always seems to be hovering around his shoulders.

He knows Hotch dismissed them fifteen or so minutes ago, ordering them all to go get some sleep, since they clearly weren't making any progress on the case. He doesn't remember the drive back to the hotel or making his way to his hotel room. He certainly doesn't remember grabbing his razor from the sink counter and tumbling to the ground, but he knows he must have. He wouldn't be sitting on the cool tiles of this bathroom, staring at the razor in his hand if he hadn't.

He huffs a sigh, leaning his forehead against the cool wood of the doors, relaxing slightly as it washes over his feverish skin. He hasn't told anyone about his fever. What was the point? He couldn't head back home right now and Morgan would just force him to stop working the case. He wasn't even really sure if was a fever. He didn't have a thermometer or anything, so he didn't have any way of checking. He was probably just overworked.

Spencer Reid was, after all, very tired. He's tried so hard, suggesting anything he could think of that could help with the case. He'd used up every bit of profiling knowledge he had but everything was a dead end. It's taken everything out of him and he's starting to think they'll never catch this unsub. He's starting not to care about if they do. He just wants to take a break. He just wants to sleep. He doesn't want to do any more. He doesn't want to ever wake up.

He closes his eyes, bringing his palms up to scrub at his eyelids before letting his hands drop back to his lap. He squeezes his left wrist, then his right. One at a time.

He marvels at how easily his thumb and pointer finger can fit around the entire diameter and their tips still meet. His wrists are thin, so, so thin. Unhealthily so.

He laughs dryly, and it scratches against his throat, abused from all of the talking he'd done and the illness he can feel coming on. When was the last time he ate? He realizes with an odd sense of mirth that he doesn't remember. He's probably hungry, but he doesn't notice it. Not that he cares. He stopped caring a long time ago.

He stares at the razor, thinking about the unsub and the victims' devastated families. He'd never be able to bring any sort of comfort to them now, he muses, but then he remembers. He remembers that it doesn't matter any more. He won't matter anymore, he supposes.

He lets go of his wrists, studying the light pink fingerprints on his flesh. He's starting to cry. He lets the tears fall, picking up the razor and pausing to really think about what he's doing.

He forces his doubts away, replacing the spot where his hand just was with a blade. He'll finally be free now. No more insecurity, no more dark clouds, no more sickness, no more sleepless nights thinking about everyone he's failed.

He's finally letting go.

He drags the blade across his left wrist, then the right before dropping the razor and standing. He forces himself into the bedroom, deciding he'd rather bleed out on a bed than the floor of a bathroom. Normally he'd feel bad for room service, and somewhere in the depths of his mind he thinks he does. But he's already committing the most horribly selfish act he can think of. What's a little extra greediness tacked on? 

He sways with his vision and falls, face forward onto the cheap, scratchy hotel carpet with a heavy _thud_.

* * *

For a moment, time seemed to slow to a still, the echo of his body hitting the floor ringing, dully, in his ears. The muted pain of hitting a thin, harsh carpet scratching every inch of skin it could reach.

He cried lowly, the impact settling into his bones. He wished, belatedly, that someone had cared to at least knock upon hearing his fall, which had no doubt grabbed the attention of his hypersensitive coworkers. There was a horrible, sinking moment when he realized that no one was coming. Not even his team.

He laid there, fever wracking his body and tears streaming his face for several long, horrible moments.

He knew when he cut his wrists what he had planned, and he knew it was wrong to leave everyone behind, but he wished that someone - _anyone_ \- would’ve cared.

A choked sob escaped him as the fever swelled and blood gushed from his self-inflicted injuries. This was really it, then, if no one was coming. This was the end.

Time sped back up as death loomed ever closer.

* * *

Two sharp knocks sound with Morgan’s low, concerned voice following. “Kid? You okay in there? We heard a thud.”

Reid blinked, trying to gain some composure before speaking. “Yea-yeah. I, uh, I just tripped and knocked down my bag off the dresser.”

”Hm,” Morgan sounded skeptical, but didn’t press. “Alright, well, we’re playing cards in Hotch’s room. Wanna come join us?”

”No- That’s okay, I think I’m just gonna- Just gonna chill.” Spencer bit back a sob. Why did this hurt so much? Talking to Morgan -his coworker, his best friend, his _more_ _-_ hurt more than the stinging on the undersides of his wrists where blood was still steadily flowing.

”Okay, Reid, but you know where we are if you need us.”

”Yep!” Spencer waited for the sound of Morgan’s retreating footsteps, then he let himself cry.

Regret, hotter than the fever burning under his skin, washed over him suddenly, and panic settled lowly in his gut. The reality of a situation that had somehow managed to seem abstract up until Morgan knocked finally kicked in.

He knew he was tired. He knew he was sick. He knew he wasn’t the best. But he also knew he wanted to make more memories with his team, his friends, his family. This wasn’t the way out.

He knew, someday, this urge might come back, overwhelming and unstoppable then, but for now he had a choice.

He’d always thought it to be somewhat of an unrealistic cliche, but now, as he felt his strength and his very life draining from his body with the blood staining the hotel carpet, he gathered his depleting energy and called out, “Morgan!”

He could hear the footsteps approaching rapidly, his locked door being kicked open, and Morgan shouting his name before yelling for a medic.

Spencer smiled at him, letting his eyes close. He knew he was safe with Derek. He knew he’d be okay in time.

For now, he would stay alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a kudos and comments to show your appreciation and tell me what you thought


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